Perfect in Every Detail
by Roadstergal
Summary: Legion ficlet. Slash.


After Legion had left, Lister kicked off his shoes and slipped on the frosty-cold trainers. He tested out the bed – it was soft and springy, and didn't bottom out when he jumped onto it with all of his weight, but the rebound was dampened enough to keep him from flying off of it. Perfect. He flipped through the movies; with such a selection of B-flicks, it was hard to choose, but he finally pulled out _Revenge of the Amazon Killers of the Pineapple Jungle_, popped it in the bedside player, pulled his sugarpuff sandwich into bed, propped himself on the bosomy pillows, and started to watch with a contented sigh. Yes, yes, Red Dwarf was getting farther away with every second. But did he really want to find Red Dwarf anyway? Legion's knowledge of his needs and wants seemed almost prescient.  
A chime sounded at the door. Lister hit Pause. "Come in!"  
Rimmer walked in, his brow creased, his shoulders tense. "Ah, there you are. You have a room?"  
"Ya, man. This Legion bloke can cook, can't he? Wha, don't you have one?"  
"No. Legion said he was taking me to my room, but he just disappeared." Rimmer sat on the edge of the bed, and his fingers unconsciously started to stroke the coverlet. "I've been looking all over for you chaps."  
Lister grinned. "Maybe he meant for you to walk around feeling things all night. It must be killer to be able to do that again."  
Rimmer smiled, a broad grin that Lister had never seen before. "It's _fantastic_." He began to stroke the chrome on Lister's guitar.  
"You should do that more often, man. Smile, I mean."  
Rimmer frowned. "I smile all of the time, squire."  
"Neh, you smirk. Big difference." Rimmer's hands had not stopped throughout this conversation, and he moved his long fingers over the steel strings, on the blanket, up and down Lister's…  
"That's me leg, Rimmer."  
Rimmer snatched his hand back. "Oh. Sorry. I… Sorry."  
"It's OK, man." Lister was indeed in an incredibly good mood; the confinement of Starbug had been a chronic stress, the kind of stress that sits there almost below perception and makes one miserable; the kind of malcontent that you only really notice when it's removed, making you feel twice as magnificent as you have any right to. Curious, now, Lister leaned across and grabbed Rimmer's hand. It was similar to a human hand, with texture and resilience, but it was just a bit too firm – and some sense, not quite touch, made it very clear to Lister that pure energy, not blood, flowed beneath the skin.  
"Nuts…" muttered Lister, and looked up. His face was millimeters from Rimmer's, now, and whenever Lister would look back on that moment, he would be in no doubt as to what happened next. It was Rimmer who bridged the gap, leaning forward to press his lips to Lister's. If you had asked Lister before then what he would think of a snog with Rimmer, he would have certainly come up with some interesting comparisons, ranging from eating from a used cat-litter box to carnal knowledge of a squid. But Rimmer's lips were sweet and firm, and sang with a note of energy that was too high to hear but close enough to feel. So he opened his mouth and his legs and drew Rimmer into both. He undid the fastenings on the hologram's clothing, and they disappeared with a crackle as soon as they were no longer touching Rimmer's skin. Lister's clothing acted more prosaically, falling into small heaps wherever they were tossed. The hard light now sang its song over half of his body, sending shivers up his spine that trailed Rimmer's fingers, tickling his lips and his ear as they were kissed and nipped. And now lower, sucking at his neck, licking his chest with laps that left no moisture behind. And now lower, taking him into a heat that was impossibly tight and impossibly slick; he grabbed a double handful of hologrommatic fiberous hair as his chest heaved in inaudible bliss. After an eternity, he screamed release to the dark ceiling.  
He was hardly able to open his eyes as a magnificently nude Rimmer crawled up to lie beside him, gathering him to his chest. "Ioweyaone," Lister murmured.  
"Yes, you do, Listy," Rimmer's voice rumbled against his ear, and there was a smile in it.

Lister could almost believe he had dreamed it all, when he woke up alone the next morning. But his clothing still lay scattered heedlessly around the bed, and the red mark on his thigh and his satisfyingly sore cock stared up at him and dared him to explain it all away.  
He took a hot shower, dressed, and headed down to breakfast, in an agony of indecision of whether to be embarrassed, disgusted, or hopeful at the prospect of facing Rimmer again.

Rimmer walked in with a look of confusion and worry on his face. Lister tried to meet his eye, but Rimmer looked straight ahead as he marched to his chair. "Why is he so obsessed with fulfilling our every desire?"  
"Was your room like everyone else's - perfect in every detail"  
Lister turned back to his breakfast. Overstarched pajamas. Was it his desire or Rimmer's that was fulfilled last night? Figment or reality? Whatever game Legion was playing, he played it far too well for Lister to stay and experience any more of it.

"Let's talk about how to get out of this hellhole."


End file.
